Hello everyone, welcome back! The end of summer is approaching, and the insane heat here in Texas has let up (a touch). Took some time off for an epic, 7-week European adventure in ten cities across five countries. Didn’t get much of any writing done, but did have plenty of time for thinking about my completed manuscripts and works-in-progress.

About a quarter into the trip, I got rejection emails on back-to-back days from the final two full manuscript request queries I had unresolved for a middle grade video game fantasy manuscript. Which sucked, of course. This story has been queried a ton. Dozens of cold queries, plus at least twenty pitch sessions across several writing conferences, all of which but one resulted in requests for pages. Half of all of these queries received no reply at all, which is (I assume) a typical response rate for modern day literary agents. Most of the rejections were canned form letters with nothing meaningful to say (typical). A few rejections said they liked what I had submitted, but it just didn’t grab the agent enough to request more.

It wasn’t all bad though. I had a total of seven full requests on this story, six from conference pitches and one from a slush pile cold query. But a pattern had developed over time with the limited feedback I had received from agents: they liked the writing and voice, they liked the characters, but I wasn’t getting to the heart of the adventure soon enough.

So, armed with time to think while riding across Europe on planes, trains, and automobiles, I came up with a plan of action for another revision to my story.

Actually, I already knew what I had to do. Kill the darlings.

We authors, especially those of us in the worldbuilding-heavy fantasy/sci-fi genres, love to add details. Lots of details. Character details. Setting details. Historical details. Details of detailed details. All the details. And a lot of times, readers eat them up.

However, what the prevailing wisdom for an author seeking first-time representation tells us is that we should keep our manuscripts lean and mean. What does that mean for all of those detailed details? Only keep what’s necessary.

So, as I was working through the first revision of this middle grade story, about two chapters’ worth stuck out to me as entirely extraneous. The story is set in my old college town. At the end of every summer the town has a huge outdoor festival, and I wrote a little scene where the heroine has to face some anxieties while going through the crowd. Super fun, well-written, relevant to the character, and enjoyable to all those who had beta read the story, and -bonus- a personal connection for me the author. The true definition of a darling.

BUT

When you start getting a pattern of feedback from agents telling you the story isn’t moving along quick enough, it’s time for those things to go. Why? Because the pace suffers. An agent’s professional success depends on an ability to identify a commercially viable story out of a pile of thousands. So, if their slow-plot alarm bells are ringing, you’d better pay attention.

Back to my story. The heroine, while indeed facing anxieties (conflict) in her trip through the festival crowd, didn’t particularly grow any from the experience. She went on to face more anxieties in other scenes not long after. And while it was relevant to her internal journey, it wasn’t particularly connected to the external plot at all. The festival has nothing to do with the adventure of the plot. So, it had to go. Along with every other reference to the festival. Plus another handful of similar occurrences, where the progress of the plot was bogged down for a fun, but unnecessary detour.

And oh, the pain. Making deep revision cuts can be heartbreaking. I carved out nearly 10% of my story, dropping from 56k words to 51k. All darlings. All gone to the bin. Actually, they’re saved in a separate file that I can go back to in one of two scenarios. 1) After a publisher has fallen in love with my lean and mean manuscript and asks for some more words to make the book a little longer. 2) After this story is published and a sequel calls for the heroine to work her way through a crowd. Grab that text, edit it up, and paste it in. In this digital age, nothing is truly lost, so I say be a little more generous with that scalpel.

Great examples of this lean and mean strategy are the early entries in the Harry Potter series. The first two books are very light on extraneous worldbuilding details, and only later on in books three and onward does JK Rowling add the little interesting flourishes that may not see actual payoff of relevance until a later volume, if at all. The evidence is right there on the shelf.

So, as you’re revising and asking yourself, “Won’t anyone think of those poor, innocent darlings?”

The correct response is: No. They must die.